


Yibo is The Worst Disney Prince, Actually

by fyredancer



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Magic, Fairy Tale Style, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Quests, demisexual Wang Yibo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: Not only would HE need rescuing; he would say the princess is too heavy.Prince Wang Yibo never expected to be sent on a hero’s journey when he woke up that morning, nor did he want to be, but he’s sent on a quest to recover his sister and determine the line of inheritance of the kingdom of Yuehua in one fell swoop. The problem is, he finds himself far more interested in spending time with the bright, helpful noble Xiao Zhan he finds along the way.Will Princess Cheng Xiao ever see the light of day again? Will Wang Yibo figure out his feelings? What’s Xiao Zhan’s thinking about all of this? And why do all of the inns along the way have only one bed available?
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean
Comments: 61
Kudos: 304
Collections: BJYX Week 2020





	Yibo is The Worst Disney Prince, Actually

**Author's Note:**

> This story is all thanks to Xinnieh, who did some heavy lifting to feed the bunny here and did an advance reading to help me get sibling interactions down. I also owe a debt of gratitude to chengyeets, who continues to be my best cheerleader and sounding board, and to my beta reader MadFilaments (@taheta_) who is a wonderfully helpful, thorough person who I appreciate very much both for her beta help and talking through plot points. ♥

“I hate you,” Wang Yibo says through gritted teeth at his sister once she’s in earshot of him beside the punch bowl.

Cheng Xiao puts on a wide, flawless, toothy smile. “Suffer and die,” she says sweetly to him between her teeth, ladling punch into the crystal-cut glass in her other hand. She sets the ladle over the side beyond his reach and puts her hand up to twirl through one of the coiled curls that her jet-black hair has been teased into. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you tell a roomful of visiting dignitaries that I’m ‘too heavy to help up from a fall.’” She turns her back on him and flounces off.

Yibo stares after her, eyes wide and mouth round, his retort stuck in his throat. She was too quick for him this time.

“Oh, Yibo-dianxia, let me help you with that!” one of the sticky fawning ladies who’s been haunting him all afternoon swoops in and seizes the ladle, scooping up punch to deposit into the crystal-cut glass Yibo has outstretched.

Yibo’s eyes swivel toward her. He grimaces.

The sticky-voiced lady beams at him as though he’s graced her with a smile.

“Thank you,” he says stiffly, holding onto his manners by the grace of the heavens and the knowledge that his mother, Du Hua, will roast him if he’s not at least polite to the women that have descended upon him for the grand ball to honor the kingdom of Yuehua’s fourth centennial milestone.

“Oh, you’re so welcome,” the woman gushes, taking a step toward him and Yibo strategically takes a step back to prevent her from laying hands on him.

Even worse than the syrupy fawning, to him, is when the women want to cling to him and fuss over him. Women of all ages have been doing it since he was about thirteen at every public function and Yibo really wishes they’d stop.

Queen Du Hua’s grand ball is intended for many functions: to celebrate her monarchy’s strength and prominence amongst all its surrounding nations, to declare the succession contest open for who will take her throne, and to gather numerous eligible members of surrounding royalty to vie for the hands of her marriageable children.

Neither Yibo nor his sister Cheng Xiao are particularly interested in marriage, and their rivalry has nothing to do with the throne. At the end of the day, really, they’re too alike. They’re both headstrong, clever, beautiful, and used to having their every whim indulged due to those qualities as well as their status in life. Yibo remembers vying with Cheng Xiao over every little thing practically from the cradle onward. Toys, hobbies, nannies’ attention, driving their tutors to distraction: all of it has been an unending cavalcade to see which of them can win.

Yibo has won a fair number of times, but it galls him to admit that he and Cheng Xiao have come out about even overall.

Now that they’re both of age, Du Hua has decided to announce another competition between her two eldest: a succession contest to determine which of them will take the throne when she’s ready to step down and enjoy her golden years. She’ll announce the method she’s decided upon by the conclusion of the grand ball.

This leaves Yibo stuck enduring the attention of a bevy of cloying, obsequious women who think that prattling in cutesy tones and falling all over each other to get to him are the best ways to leave an impression on him. At any other occasion, Cheng Xiao would step in and gather up the sticky fawning crowd into her circle and redirect their attentions from Yibo because she knows how truly miserable it makes him.

He’s deprived himself of that support given how badly he embarrassed his sister the day before at tea with his anecdote about how he’d tried to hoist her up from a fall and discovered she was too heavy to lift. _So, men, never believe the tales about princesses being unable to crush delicate plant matter beneath their backsides_ At the time it had been worth seeing Cheng Xiao’s face turn scarlet and her eyes narrow into dangerous slits, but she always carries a grudge.

He manages to elude the touch of the woman who’d served him punch only to find another sidling up to him. Yibo takes a sharp step back and lifts his glass in the guise of a toast to keep her at arm’s length.

It’s crossing etiquette to touch a royal against their explicit invitation, a fact that most of these women seem all too willing to forget. If another one of them manages to get close enough to pinch his cheek and tell him they look edible, he is going to snap and leave the ballroom no matter what his mother dictated.

“Ah, Yibo-dianxia, you look so slim and elegant in your suit,” the young woman tells him. He tries to remember which neighboring monarchy she is from and fails. Most of the women in attendance are his age or older and they fawn over him even more than the ones who are in their teens, who usually stick to giggling and asking him to dance.

“Thanks,” Yibo says with a straight face. “The royal tailor picked it out.” He usually has quite a bit of freedom in his daily wardrobe but he lets their people style him for royal functions. Whatever he ends up choosing, it will always be wrong by his mother’s reckoning.

Yibo looks out at the ballroom and the bevy of royals dancing. Men guiding ladies around are the predominant pairing, but there are a fair number of men with men and women with women. He feels no attraction to either, no desire to be in anyone’s embrace, and Yibo wonders, not for the first time, whether he’s broken. Or cursed. As a prince, he thinks it’s more likely he’s cursed.

He’s never liked girls. Some of his friends, sons of palace advisors or royals, have waxed lyrical about what it’s like to be into them. Seungyoun in particular has told him all about how great they smell, how soft they are when held, how musical their sweet laughter is, how plush and inviting their mouths are—Yibo always stops him there. He doesn’t need to hear further details.

 _“When you see her, your heart will go thump-thump,”_ Seungyoun told him once, rapping his knuckles on Yibo’s chest, and Yibo pushed his hand away with impatience.

 _“I seriously doubt that,”_ Yibo replied. Nothing makes his heart beat faster than his favorite hobbies.

“Yibo-dianxia, can I trouble you for a dance?” Another woman surges forward, leading with heaving décolletage, and Yibo can’t help but take another step back. If they get him pinned against the wall he’s not going to be responsible for his actions.

“Ah, young master, there you are!” says the familiar and very welcome voice of Wang Han, one of his mother’s most trusted advisors.

“Han-ge,” Yibo says with relief, gravitating toward him, his entire face scrawled with the wordless message _save me_.

Wang Han gives him a good-natured, knowing smile and sidles past the closest hopeful woman, clapping his arm. “Excuse me, ladies, I have to take this one aside as the festivities move onward.”

He steers Yibo with the gentle adamant arm of a master of ceremonies and gets them clear of the ring of pouting, disappointed women.

“Thank the heavens you came when you did,” Yibo mutters under his breath. “Do you know how close I was to kicking a shoe under that table and pretending I lost it so I could crawl after it and disappear out the other side?”

“Very, if you had it planned out in that much detail,” Wang Han replies with good humor.

“Was there really something, or did you rescue me out of sheer goodwill?” Yibo asks.

“I do think your mother plans on making an announcement shortly, didi, but I was motivated to get you out of there before you walked through the plate glass just to get away from them.”

Yibo purses his lips. He hadn’t quite reached that as an option, but he thinks it would be far preferable to letting any of those fawning women put their hands on him. He scans the dance floor again and spots all his palace friends out on the floor of their own volition. Yixuan is dancing with an ambassador’s wife, all smiles and no doubt smooth conversation. Sungjoo has his arms around a beautiful young lady around his age and the way they’re gazing hot and heavy at each other, Yibo has no doubt where they’ll be headed when there’s a break in the dancing.

He wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t even want to contemplate that.

Wenhan is in a corner, not dancing with women but showing off some moves to a small crowd of boys and girls around his age. They’re laughing and clapping for him and he’s putting on a good show. Seungyeon isn’t on the dance floor, he’s at one of the royal tables near the floor hand in hand with a gorgeous lady with long, shining black hair. She has her head on his shoulder and a besotted expression on her face.

Yibo glances away.

“It’s all right for everyone to go at their own pace, didi,” Wang Han says beside him, patting his arm. 

Once again, Yibo wonders if Wang Han has seen too much or misunderstood completely. “I don’t like women that way at all,” he says, the frustration coming through in his hard, clipped words. “Aren’t I supposed to?”

Wang Han puts a hand on his arm and stops their momentum. His eyes are very earnest. “Yibo-didi, truly, don’t worry about that so much,” he says. “Whether you find someone later who makes you feel that way, or never feel that way, it’s okay, you know?”

Yibo’s mouth compresses to a thin line.

“What about boys?” Wang Han is so understanding, Yibo thinks he could tell him anything and he’d simply nod and pat his arm.

Yibo laughs shortly. “I’ve grown up with those boys,” he says, gesturing to his friends scattered from the dance floor to the ballroom’s furthest reaches. “Wouldn’t I feel something? Anything? Objectively they’re all good looking, but…” His mouth twists.

Wang Han’s chuckle surprises him. “Not necessarily, didi. You’ve all grown up in each other’s pockets like brothers.”

Yibo puts his head to the side. He hasn’t thought about it like that. He’s been thinking there’s a part of him that is missing. Even Cheng Xiao, every bit as sharp and unsentimental as he is, has suffered through her share of childhood crushes and teenage infatuations. Yet, all this while, for Yibo there’s been no one who moves him. No one tugs at his heart and makes it go _thump-thump._

Wang Han pats his shoulder again. “Give yourself time, didi.”

Yibo can only sigh. He knows if he succeeds the throne he’s supposed to marry a woman or a man who can bear him children so that their royal line continues. He’s even less enthusiastic about the prospect of taking the throne than he is about having children or finding a partner.

“You say that like I can afford to be patient,” he says, and his words are drowned in the sudden crescendo of music that cuts off short.

Du Hua strides up to the front of the dais, her usually composed face strained in lines of distress.

“I am sorry to interrupt all those gathered here!” Du Hua exclaims, her loud projection reaching to every corner of the ballroom thanks to excellent acoustics. “My daughter, Yuehua’s prince, has gone missing.” She gestures, wringing her hands, and the crowd gasps in shock.

Yibo tenses. “She was just here,” he mutters to Wang Han. “Right next to me, at the punch bowl.”

“I saw her step out toward the gardens,” Wang Han says, looking equally worried. “Likely for some fresh air.”

“Let’s go,” Yibo decides, not willing to waste a split second. “Tell the royal guard on our way out.”

He doesn’t even think twice. All animosity and competition aside, apart from their current feud and any bad blood between them, Cheng Xiao is his sister and he’ll never knowingly allow something awful to happen to her. He sprints for the ornate wrought doors that open onto the terrace that leads down to the gardens, but his mother’s voice stops him before he can put his hand on the iron handle.

“There has been a statement delivered regarding the kidnapping,” Du Hua’s voice rings out.

Yibo freezes and does a slow turn, staring toward the dais and his mother as she continues her terrible pronouncement.

“Cheng Xiao has been captured and will be held under the oversight of the eastern dragon Qinglong,” Du Hua declares. “Until someone deemed worthy of the throne to Yuehua frees her from her plight.”

Yibo’s jaw clenches. He has a foreboding notion brewing in his gut.

Still, it can’t be helped. He’s Yuehua’s prince, and he won’t let Cheng Xiao get bullied by anyone else, dragon or no.

\---

All he’s ever wanted is the open road and the drum of a horse’s hooves beneath him as they fly across the li away from the palace and its politics, but Yibo has never wanted it under such circumstances. He’s on his favorite horse Trampling Peonies with a full bag of provisions and they’re making excellent time for the next town on their southward journey, but he’s stressed out over Cheng Xiao’s fate. How was she captured so quickly? How did his mother receive such a timely statement? And why was the statement phrased so specifically with regard to the rescuer’s qualifications?

Yibo had a lot of questions, but he was hustled out of the palace without answers.

He would even question how his sister could have been imprisoned so quickly. But then again, any cultivator capable of a level-ten teleportation spell should be able to manage it, even if they’d be incapacitated for hours afterward.

Yibo isn’t allowed to make use of cultivator help on his way to the rescue, so Trampling Peonies and his trusty sword Panther Boom will have to do.

He keeps himself lowered to the neck of his horse as they canter onward. Wang Han had spoken with him briefly before he left, assuring him that he’d do his best to find whoever had been behind the kidnapping.

It isn’t fair to Cheng Xiao, Yibo thinks, sullen with it. His mother was supposed to announce the succession contest that very evening. Cheng Xiao is in line for the throne too, and Yibo is of mixed disposition as to whether he even wants it.

He rides onward as the sky grows darker and the lights of the distant town grow closer. He drops Trampling Peonies into a rolling trot. It won’t do to exhaust her, and he still has a long way ahead of him.

As they ride, he casts his mind over the different ways to defeat or get past a dragon. Yibo is athletic, though not particularly strong. He’s under no illusions that he’ll be able to slay a dragon with sheer force unless he somehow snags the tip of his sword under a loose scale that guides his blade right to the dragon’s heart.

The odds of that are surpassingly slim, so Yibo has to try and come up with another way.

He’s got the money pouch Wang Han slipped him, so maybe he can hire a bodyguard. Would it still count as rescuing Cheng Xiao himself if he lets a bodyguard handle the bulk of the danger?

Well, the condition is that Cheng Xiao be rescued from imprisonment by someone who is worthy, Yibo reasons, and delegation is an important quality in a leader. He’s heard Wang Han say so often enough.

The town is close enough that Yibo reaches it before the overhanging sheet of slate-gray clouds sweeps over him. The first drops of rain are spattering down as Yibo dismounts from Trampling Peonies and hands her reins over to a stableboy outside of the largest inn at the main crossroads of town. He ducks through the front door just as the storm rolls in at his heels, drenching the porch behind him as he slides the door shut.

“Welcome, welcome,” an amiable grandmother-type greets him from the front counter. “Dinner, a night in, or both?”

Yibo purses his lips. “Dinner, and can I decide later?” he asks. He’s not keen on riding his horse through the night, but he’s even less sanguine about leaving his sister to an unknown fate. He can always hold Trampling Peonies to a steady walk until the light returns.

“Sure, sure,” the grandma at the counter replies. “Though where else you’ll go in this storm, at this time of night, I don’t know. None of my business though!” She says the last bit with cheer, rather than a grumpy inflection.

It makes Yibo want to chuckle. “The storm is likely to last all night?”

“Of course it is,” the grandma says. “This time of year, you’ll be lucky if it clears out by morning.”

Yibo nods. He ought to stay the night then, because he can’t risk his horse getting chilled or sick. There’s a stubbornness that clings to him, though, and he’s determined to wait until after he’s eaten to lock himself in. Wang Han had emphasized to him more than once that he doesn’t have an endless supply of money, so try not to spend like he’s got the royal treasury at his back.

“Dinner, then,” he says, turning to peruse the open tavern area to one side of the inn. To the right of the counter, a staircase wraps up and around to another level. To Yibo’s immediate right, there’s a closed door and he’s guessing the space for the inn’s staff is behind it.

“Right, right,” the grandma says, nodding toward the tavern area. “Help yourself, sonny.”

Yibo frowns. “Can’t you clear a table for me?”

She laughs at him and slaps her knee. “That’s a good one, sonny. Who do you think you are, a prince?”

Yibo frowns at her. She ignores him and starts picking at her nails. Yibo sighs and walks toward the tavern area. Every single table has people sitting at it. He wonders if he can bribe some of them to leave.

He adjusts the coin purse at his belt and reminds himself to be more like Wang Han with his money. If he isn’t thrifty, he could run out before his rescue mission is completed, and then what’s he supposed to do?

His eye lands on a table where there’s only one person seated, his cloaked back facing the room. Yibo hesitates a moment longer. It would be even more awkward to approach a person who’s also alone, he thinks. Then he might actually be expected to make conversation. He ought to choose the rowdy group by the far window, because then he can pull a chair up and there’s a good chance they’ll barely notice he’s there.

At the table in front of Yibo, the man sitting alone turns his head. His profile is a study in beauty, more regular and fine than any statue Yibo has seen.

Yibo takes a step forward before he knows it.

He frowns, surprised at himself. He’s not the kind of person to be drawn in by looks. Nevertheless, he heeds his own instincts and steps forward again, putting one foot after the other until he’s hovering near the shoulder of the young man—based on the smooth fairness of his cheek—and there he remains, standing awkwardly.

Yibo tries to figure out what he should say, his tongue a useless weight in his mouth, until the young man looks up, sees him standing there, and the most gorgeous smile Yibo has ever seen blooms on his face at the sight of him.

“Hello,” the young man says.

“Er,” Yibo replies with all the eloquence at his command. That is to say, none.

“Would you like to sit with me?” the young man invites. He cranes his neck over his shoulder briefly before looking back up at Yibo. “I seem to have taken the last table. Please, we can share.”

“Thank you,” Yibo says, sinking into the seat next to him with gratitude. It puts them knee to knee and he nudges his seat back enough to disconnect that contact before he’s asked to move away.

“I’m Xiao Zhan,” the young man says, sitting up straight and extending his hand.

Yibo stares at it. He tries to remember what he’s supposed to do. He knows five different forms of courtly bows according to rank, but this is an unfamiliar greeting to him. “I’m W—” he begins, and corrects himself. He’s supposed to be traveling incognito. “I’m Yibo.”

He takes Xiao Zhan’s fingertips and brings them to his lips, pressing a brief, chaste kiss there before releasing his hand.

“O-oh,” Xiao Zhan utters, and it might be a trick of the firelight but his face seems a bit red. “Just Yibo, hm?”

“Just Yibo,” Yibo repeats. That shouldn’t be too suspicious by itself. Plenty of boys had been named Yibo after his own birth, like there were plenty of young women around his sister’s age with the character ‘Xiao’ in their names now.

“What brings you to this town with a storm closing in, Yibo?” Xiao Zhan asks, reaching for a mug beside him and taking a drink. His eyes are warm and friendly, not watchful or wary, and it emboldens Yibo to answer.

“I’m trying to rescue a young lady from a…curse,” Yibo improvises. “She was taken from us recently, and no one but me can free her.”

“That’s horrible!” Xiao Zhan exclaims.

Yibo nods, glum. “I was thinking of riding all night but the storm swept over us,” he continues. “I’m worried, I have no idea what condition she’s in, or how scared she must be.”

“Oh, no,” Xiao Zhan says with dismayed sympathy. “I can help with that part. I have a magic mirror, if you’d like to try it?”

“Oh?” Yibo’s brows raise. Magic mirrors are surpassingly rare. It’s usually only the very rich or the very skilled who happen to have access to one. Xiao Zhan is dressed well but not extravagantly, and he doesn’t seem like a cultivator or one of their disciples.

Xiao Zhan reaches down, setting a satchel onto the table and rummaging through it. He brings up a square compact mirror as large as his hand and passes it over. “Put your hand on the clasp, think of the person you want to see, and open it,” he instructs and gives Yibo a kind little nod.

Yibo’s mouth is dry as he observes Xiao Zhan to the smallest detail and he’s glad to divert his attention to the mirror, settling it across his palm. There’s an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. He must be hungrier than he thought. He puts his finger to the mirror’s clasp and thinks of his sister, picturing her angry, pouting face beside the punch bowl as he’d seen her earlier that day. _Cheng Xiao_ , he thinks, feeling silly, but opening the mirror anyway.

He gasps.

It’s his sister, all right. However, instead of any number of unpleasant scenarios that have been brewing in his head, ranging from chained up in a dank stone dungeon to being crowded up against a wall with a snarling dragon’s head menacing her and keeping her in place, it’s the last sight that Yibo would have expected to see.

Cheng Xiao is seated on a plush comfortable couch in a room Yibo doesn’t recognize. It’s definitely not her suite, which he’s been in and out of since he was old enough to walk. It’s nowhere he recognizes on the palace grounds. Yet it’s undeniably a room of comfort and luxury and she’s reclining against an overstuffed pillow, a book in one hand and a tray of petit-fours beside her.

She lifts her head and Yibo can see a lithe, reedy figure decked out in an ornate older style of hanfu, all layered blue and silver, walk into the room and sweep a bow.

“Qinglong,” Cheng Xiao says, sounding as pleased to see the robed figure as she was to see Yibo earlier. Which is to say, not at all, and probably ready to use her nails on him if he goes any closer. “How long did you say I’m locked up here, again?”

“Until your esteemed brother rescues you, or you’re freed by another,” Qinglong says, deepening his bow.

Cheng Xiao makes a disgusted noise. “Well. That’ll take forever, then. Bring me another book, will you?”

Yibo slams the compact shut, his mouth going thin and flat. _Take forever, will it?_ he seethes silently at his sister. _Now it definitely will!_

Xiao Zhan is eyeing him worriedly. “She’s all right? She’s not hurt?”

Yibo tries to straighten out his mouth into some semblance of a normal expression. “No worse off than she was before,” he says cryptically. All his intentions of a swift rescue have slid to a screeching halt upon seeing Cheng Xiao with her…her dragon butler, or whatever Qinglong is serving as. “Dinner?”

Xiao Zhan blinks. “But your lady friend.”

“She’s fine, it’s not as dire as I thought,” Yibo replies dismissively. He summons up a more genuine smile for Xiao Zhan. “Besides, a man’s got to eat.”

The tense lines of Xiao Zhan’s face relax, and he offers a tentative smile. “Well. You’re right about that.”

\---

They settle in for the evening and swap stories. Yibo enjoys ordering the inn’s specialty baijiu; he’s barely allowed to wet his lips with it at the palace. Xiao Zhan leans in closer to him with each sip of his own drink and by the time they’re halfway done with dinner, their shoulders and knees are pressing and there’s a warm pleasant radiance in Yibo’s middle that he thinks has more to do with the closeness than the alcohol. It could be a bit of both, he supposes.

He learns that Xiao Zhan was on his way to Du Hua’s grand ball to represent his family, but was detained by a series of unfortunate events, each of which involved a disadvantaged party and helping them out of a tight spot. Yibo is half laughing and half charmed by the end of his recitation; Xiao Zhan has a wry, deprecating style of telling his stories, but it’s all shot through with an earnest nature and determination to do good.

“I came from the palace,” Yibo admits. “You didn’t miss much, the grand ball was interrupted by my…lady’s kidnapping.” That slip doesn’t sound too suspicious, he thinks. It makes him sound like he might even be somebody’s squire.

“Oh,” Xiao Zhan says, arching his brows. “Then the succession contest wasn’t announced?”

Yibo shakes his head. “No, and it’s unlikely to be until I’ve broken this curse.”

“Allow me to accompany you, then,” Xiao Zhan offers, placing his hand on his chest.

Yibo can’t help but notice how finely shaped his fingers are. The warmth migrates from his middle up into his face. It has to be the baijiu.

“I couldn’t put you out, if you had business at the palace,” Yibo says. It’s a token protest. He finds himself wanting Xiao Zhan to go with him. He’d considered trying to hire a bodyguard or strong man or maybe a powerful wandering cultivator should he come across one, but this is even better, he thinks.

He likes Xiao Zhan.

“This is more important,” Xiao Zhan insists. He looks down at the table between them before glancing back up at Yibo. “Don’t you think?”

Yibo can’t help but respond with a smile. “I’d be glad to have you.”

“Ah…it’s settled, then,” Xiao Zhan says. There’s color in his cheeks as he returns his gaze to the table.

The meal is simple but filling, and another glass of baijiu puts them both into companionable leaning and, in Xiao Zhan’s case, giggling. They dissolve into more and more far-fetched stories and Yibo gets less capable of censoring the princely nature of his youthful tales but Xiao Zhan doesn’t seem to notice, smiling and laughing and interjecting the occasional comment that proves he’s still following along just fine.

Yibo settles his accounts for dinner and Xiao Zhan is still beside him when he returns to the granny at the counter.

“I’m in for the night, after all, granny,” Yibo tells her.

“Well, well!” the granny exclaims, thumping a gnarled fist on the ledger open in front of her. “Should have decided that earlier, shouldn’t you!”

Yibo frowns, somewhat bleary, and peers from the granny to the ledger and back again. “Don’t tell me,” he says. The pleasant warmth that has permeated his body for most of the evening pools into a leaden weight in his gut.

“Shame, shame,” she tuts. “You’ve waited until we’re full up. There are no more rooms.”

“Granny,” Yibo begins, and swallows hard. “There has to be something.” He’s already stabled Trampling Peonies. He grimaces as he considers appealing for space in her stall for the evening. It’s no worse than some places he’s hidden around the palace grounds as a child.

Xiao Zhan pats his shoulder. “Allow me,” he says.

“Oh,” Yibo says, and looks at him, wondering if he’s going to appeal to granny’s better nature.

“Granny, is there any extra charge if he stays with me?” Xiao Zhan asks her, stepping closer to the counter and giving her a ravishing smile.

Yibo’s throat tightens. He finds himself unable to look away from Xiao Zhan’s face.

“No, no,” the granny says, the words slow and reluctant. “There is no extra charge—unless he wants a bath—but as you know, there is only one bed.”

Xiao Zhan turns to Yibo and widens guileless eyes at him. “Is that all right, Yibo?”

Before that day, Yibo wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But now, there’s a weird, blazing sensation squirming through his very veins as he regards Xiao Zhan and his handsome face. It’s like the skin all over his body is itching. He’s desperate for something, and he knows not what.

Well, perhaps he has a vague inkling.

“Is it really okay?” Yibo blurts out.

Xiao Zhan puts his head to one side. “Why would it not be?”

Yibo steals a glance at the granny. She’s leaning forward, eyes upturned, a smile on her face. Her hands are tucked under her chin spectator-style.

“All right, let’s go upstairs,” Yibo capitulates, because whatever it is that they need to work out between them, it doesn’t need to be observed by others.

They’ve both got satchels but nothing heavier as they go upstairs. Xiao Zhan precedes him, leading him to a room at the far end of the hall on the right-hand side. He opens the door and Yibo is on his heels, stretching his neck to look over his shoulder.

There is in fact only one bed.

It looks wide enough for both of them, at least. Primarily because they’re both thin even if they are tall.

“Our feet will dangle off the edge,” Yibo says, dubious.

“No, it’s fine, we’ll sleep on our sides and tuck our knees in,” Xiao Zhan tells him, setting his satchel on a table off to one side.

“Our sides?” Yibo repeats.

“Like spoons,” Xiao Zhan says.

Yibo just looks at him. Is he supposed to know what that means?

Xiao Zhan chuckles. “Get into your sleeping clothes and I’ll show you.”

Yibo does, and they climb into bed. Xiao Zhan settles him on his side and slots in behind him, knees pressed to the smalls of Yibo’s knees.

He thinks it will take forever to fall asleep; he hasn’t slept with another person since his wet-nurse.

Defying expectations, Yibo falls asleep more or less at once, Xiao Zhan’s breath on the back of his neck.

It’s the best sleep of his life.

\---

The following morning, they set out on the road, retrieving their horses from the stable after a filling breakfast of congee with braised greens and eggs, and steamed dumplings, half of which they’ve packed away to eat on the road later. “Which way?” Xiao Zhan asks after they’ve mounted up. His horse is a beautiful chestnut that Yibo’s roan eyes warily before sidling close and falling into step together.

“Um,” Yibo says, and gestures vaguely west, guilt sitting in his stomach heavier than the weight of the congee.

Xiao Zhan smiles and turns his chestnut’s head in that direction, and all Yibo can do is follow.

What’s wrong with having a little adventure of his own, as long as he knows his sister is safe and sound?

They turn their backs to the sunrise and ride. 

It turns out that riding all day is not for Yibo, actually. He loves to ride. He rides his horses often. Daily, when he can manage it. He considers himself a seasoned rider, and he’s even held his seat with some of the most restive horses their stable keeps.

Riding often does not actually translate to being capable of riding all day. By afternoon they’ve reached a smaller town on the eastern road and Yibo proposes they stop for the day, doing his best to hold it together and not sound pitiful.

“What about your…your lady?” Xiao Zhan asks, but he casts a worried glance over Yibo and cups a solicitous hand to his elbow as he helps him inside.

Yibo does not limp, but it takes real effort and he is slower than usual in his attempt to assert total control over his movements.

The inn at this town is smaller, and somehow equally crowded. They’re quick to hustle up to the innkeeper with her ledger, this time a middle-aged housewife type with hair in a neat bun and a knowing smile.

“There’s only one room left,” the housewife informs them.

“We’ll take it,” Yibo says, because he thinks he will die if he doesn’t sleep in a bed tonight. At the very least, his backside won’t survive. “And dinner and baths for each of us.”

“Sure, renowned gentlemen,” she says. Her eyes are mirthful as she continues. “But there’s only one bed.”

Yibo just looks at her. This is some kind of punishment, he thinks. Not a curse, necessarily, but perhaps a malicious fairy who is looking over his shoulder and is well aware he’s supposed to be on his way to rescuing his sister.

It might even be Cheng Xiao herself, he thinks. She’s fully capable of setting some kind of pre-emptive magic upon him to even out the scales if he crosses her in some way.

“That’s fine,” Xiao Zhan says, and nudges him. “Isn’t it, Yibo? It was fine last night.”

Yibo makes an undignified noise and doesn’t move away. “Yes,” he says, mortified when his voice cracks. “We’ll take it.”

Before dinner, Xiao Zhan advises him to take a good long soak in the tub. “You’re not used to riding all day,” he says, setting his satchel aside and taking his magic mirror out without being asked.

“Oh, what tipped you off,” Yibo says, and he’s only being a little sarcastic.

Xiao Zhan gives him a gentle, knowing smile. “I’ll get some mineral salts,” he says. “If they don’t have any here, I can step out to the apothecary.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Yibo starts, but Xiao Zhan is already out the door, leaving him with the magic mirror.

He holds his hand over the closed compact, thinking of his sister again. He thinks of the way her face tightened when he was telling his joking anecdote to the dignitaries. “Cheng Xiao,” he says aloud, thumb on the clasp, and he flips it open.

Once again, the mirror shows him a luxuriously appointed chamber, but this time Cheng Xiao is sitting at a writing table. There’s a piercing raptor cry and she stands up, making her way to an enormous floor to ceiling window unimpeded by any glass panes. She steps out onto a balcony that wraps around the spire of a tower made of white stone.

The mirror gives him a wider angle that shows the tower is circled by a moat, or at least the bend of a river. A large blue dragon curls along the outer wall, coiled against the white stone and mortar of the tower, its piercing golden eyes fixed on Cheng Xiao as she steps out onto the balcony.

A hawk swoops in from the side and Cheng Xiao leans onto the balcony as it lands on the stone railing, mantling there for a moment. It flips its wings neatly closed on its back and sidles closer to her. Cheng Xiao reaches to untie a leather case attached to its leg and withdraws a small scroll.

As if sensing Yibo’s wishes, the angle of the scene changes so that the mirror is showing him an over the shoulder view of the scroll in Cheng Xiao’s hands.

_Yibo has been dispatched. You will be freed by the one worthy to take the throne._

Yibo frowns.

The mirror angle shifts again, showing him Cheng Xiao’s scowl.

“Great,” Cheng Xiao says. “I might as well make peace with my new life. That lazy dumbass will never come rescue me.”

“Well, now I won’t!” Yibo exclaims, snapping the mirror shut and tossing it over to the bed. 

Moments later, Xiao Zhan re-enters the room, peering curiously around the wooden door before his smile widens and he steps all the way in.

“Found the mineral salts,” Xiao Zhan says, holding up a small sachet. His head tilts to one side. “Everything all right?”

“Oh, fine,” Yibo says sourly. His brows pinch together. “ _She’s_ just fine.” He keeps his opinions on the state of his ass to himself.

“They’re going to fill the tub in the corner for you,” Xiao Zhan says, indicating the privacy screen off to one side, and the curve of a wooden tub barely visible beyond it. “And I’ll bathe after. Um, I won’t look.”

Yibo tips his head up. “I don’t mind.” Why does it matter, he thinks.

“You…you don’t?” Xiao Zhan glances toward him. Even in the low light, Yibo thinks there’s a dusky flush crawling up along his neck and filling under his cheekbones.

“Should I?” Yibo sits up a little bit and bites his lip. He’s never been particularly self-conscious that way.

“I thought…I should give you privacy…” Xiao Zhan trails off. He squints at Yibo.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Yibo stands with a wince and slips his shirt off.

Xiao Zhan covers his own eyes with his hand. “Yibo!” he exclaims, voice strangled.

“What?” Yibo asks, more or less innocently. On some level he’s aware that this might constitute provoking Xiao Zhan in some way, and it gives him a warm feeling in his lower belly. That’s new, and he spends a moment trying to figure it out as he moves behind the privacy screen.

A pair of attendants arrive, fill the tub quickly, and step out.

“You’re very attractive,” Xiao Zhan says once the door is shut behind them. “In case you haven’t noticed.”

“I have, but thank you,” Yibo says politely. He’s been told so many times, so it must be true. “And you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.”

Yibo finishes hanging up his clothes on the privacy screen and realizes his face feels hot. Is he blushing? He realizes as he’s poised on the lip of the tub that it’s true. Xiao Zhan is very attractive, and for Yibo that’s more than an objective assessment. The tug of warmth in his gut…that’s attraction.

He finds Xiao Zhan attractive.

Without pondering that further for the moment, Yibo climbs into the tub and settles into the water with a sigh.

“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says into the silence after several heartbeats.

Yibo opens his eyes. “Yes?”

Xiao Zhan sounds sheepish. “I didn’t hand you the mineral salts before you got in.”

“All right,” Yibo says. “I’ll stretch my hand out, it’s fine to bring them over.”

“I might…” There’s a pause. “Don’t get mad at me if I see anything.”

Yibo can’t help the smirk that tips his lips up. “What if I don’t mind?” He’s not quite surprised at his own directness. The only surprise is that he’s finally got a focus for the behavior he never understood in others.

Xiao Zhan makes a somewhat strangled noise, edges up to the privacy screen, and deposits the sachet in Yibo’s outstretched hand. “Don’t tease!”

Yibo settles back down in the water with a snicker. He pours the mineral salt in and puts a hand into the water, stirring it around. He’ll leave his newfound fascination aside for now. He does find himself looking forward to bedtime far more eagerly.

After they’ve washed the dust of the road off them, both of them go downstairs to the small tavern area and order drinks and a meal for the night. It’s a simple beef and vegetable meal, buns heaped on the side, and they eat in quiet companionship and swap stories between bites.

“You were headed on your way to the palace,” Yibo asks at last. He’s curious now about everything to do with Xiao Zhan, now that he’s begun to acknowledge his own interest in the man. “What brought you there?”

“The succession,” Xiao Zhan replies. He makes a little face. “You know how there’s an heir and a spare? Well, I’m the spare, and my father had this idea that I should get close to the young royals, the ones next in line for the throne. Make myself useful, or something.”

Yibo’s stomach sinks. “For marriage?”

Xiao Zhan bites into a bun, looks at him with wide eyes, and nods. “We’re royalty in the south, and my father said to me, Zhan-er, you’re not picky about either, so why not go to the palace and try your luck?”

Yibo’s mouth compresses.

“Ah, he only meant, since I like both men and women,” Xiao Zhan hastens on to say. “Although I think he did intend me to go for whoever won the…the contest for succession.”

Yibo’s heart ices over in his chest. If Xiao Zhan rescues his sister from imprisonment, then _he_ will be the one who’ll be worthy to succeed the throne. And receive Cheng Xiao’s hand, all in one neat package.

They are staying as far away from the tower to the East as Yibo can manage.

“But I do have…preferences,” Xiao Zhan says, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. His lashes are far too long, Yibo notes. They’re a menace.

He’s never paid attention to anyone’s lashes before.

“Ah,” is all Yibo says. He picks up a bun and begins shredding it with his fingers. “Did almost seeing me naked…bother you?” He says it in a clinical tone but that curl of excitement is back in his belly.

“Not…bother me in the sense you might think,” Xiao Zhan says carefully.

Yibo decides to leave it alone. Like the new, stirring feelings opening up like new-sprouted buds inside of him, he’s not ready to examine it yet.

They remain in the tavern a while longer, sipping at their drinks as they watch a small group of travelers start up a jaunty song. Yibo’s feet tap and his knee bounces, but he doesn’t allow himself to get up and dance. Too small a space, for one. 

Beside him, Xiao Zhan hums along, and it makes Yibo want to join in but he doesn’t know the lyrics. The song is a fairly filthy one, so he’s sure it’s one that hasn’t been allowed to circulate in palace circles. It puts a smile on Yibo’s face, though, and every time he looks over at Xiao Zhan, he’s pleased to find him grinning too.

In a break between sets, Xiao Zhan leans over and murmurs, “You should get to bed early, you’ll want to allow time for some stretching in the morning after a day of hard riding.”

“All right,” Yibo says, agreeable enough because he’s got nothing better to do. “But Zhan-ge had better get to bed too, as I’m relying on my elder’s guidance.”

“Yibo, you—” Xiao Zhan begins, and Yibo gets up from the table with a laugh. Xiao Zhan moves to give his shoulder a tap and Yibo breaks into a stiff-legged run, laughing the whole way as Xiao Zhan follows.

When they get up to the small room they’re sharing, they stop and look at the single bed. They look at each other.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Xiao Zhan offers.

“Don’t be stupid,” Yibo replies. He cocks a brow. “Nothing’s changed.”

Xiao Zhan bites his lip.

It’s a polite fiction that Yibo has offered. Everything has changed, and he’s keenly aware of it as they strip down to their underthings. He’s very aware of Xiao Zhan and how he inhabits a body, how that body is attractive to him, and the fact they’ll be pressed together all night.

He’s never going to fall asleep, Yibo bemoans as they fit together again like the spoons that Xiao Zhan demonstrated for him the night before. Tonight Yibo is behind Xiao Zhan, though. He’s in against the wall and his knees press against the insides of Xiao Zhan’s. He folds his arms against his chest in front of himself as a barrier. He breathes in the sweet scent coming from Xiao Zhan’s nape—a touch of hair oil, he thinks.

“Sleep well, Yibo.” Xiao Zhan’s words are powered by the lightest of breaths.

Yibo resigns himself to a long night. “Good night, Zhan-ge,” he returns, equally soft.

He doesn’t even make it to ten heartbeats before he drifts into a sound sleep.

\---

As predicted, Yibo wakes up stiff, but they walk around town for a bit before retrieving their horses from the stable and setting out on their way. A twinge of conscience stabs him, but Yibo directs them further west. The stakes are even higher now. If Xiao Zhan has a hand in rescuing his sister Cheng Xiao, the gods—and whatever witnesses his mother might have set up—will deem him the likely successor to the throne. And the princess he’s rescued.

It’s not that Yibo wants to win the throne, either. It’s one reason he’s so reluctant. But if Xiao Zhan has been sent to the palace to try and win the heart of a royal, well…

“We should take more frequent breaks today,” Xiao Zhan calls across the distance between them, interrupting Yibo’s train of thought.

“Ah, you’re right,” Yibo replies.

“Where did you say your lady was being held again?” Xiao Zhan’s face is a blank, polite mask.

Yibo frowns at him. Why the sudden formality?

“Ah…I’ll know it when I see it,” he demurs. “All I can say is it’s westward.”

“Any particular landmarks, or…?”

“A tower,” Yibo says. “A white tower.” There’s no point in hiding that much. He can always say he’s awful with directions if there’s any kind of intervention from the gods.

Knowing his luck, there will be.

He leaves out the detail of Qinglong, because that’s a dead giveaway for the nature of the ‘curse’ he’s hinted at.

They ride in silence until mid-morning, when Xiao Zhan points to a copse beside the road. “Let’s stop there,” he suggests.

They do.

Even before they’ve dismounted, a high, thin whine and a sharp bark reaches their ears. Yibo swings down and secures Trampling Peonies’ reins to a nearby branch while Xiao Zhan remains seated and reins in his horse’s startled prance.

“What is that?” Xiao Zhan demands.

“It sounds like a fox,” Yibo replies, and holds up a hand. “Stay here with the horses, I don’t want to scare him.”

He moves further into the copse, angling in the direction of the sharp, high whines that reach him occasionally. When he spots the red fox curled up beside some underbrush, it gives another high yip and he holds out his hands in a soothing gesture.

As he’d suspected, the fox has found its way into a trap. 

Yibo keeps his movements slow and his hands gentle as he moves in, freeing it. The fox snarls as he draws near, but Yibo doesn’t flinch or pause. He moves carefully without pause until its paw draws out of the trap and it bounds free with a joyous bark.

With a satisfied nod, Yibo holds the trap open and brings his heel to bear, smashing it so that it can’t be re-armed. He gives it a few kicks for good measure. His mother put a stop to fox-hunts early in her reign but he knows there are still some nobles who imitate the terrible ‘sport’ from a far-distant kingdom. Yibo hates it.

He turns and is surprised to see the fox still there, licking a paw. It looks up at him and gives a warbling yip.

“Hello,” Yibo says, low and soft. “Are you hungry? What are you doing here? You’re free.”

The fox cocks its head like it can understand Yibo, and at this point, Yibo’s not ruling that out.

“Stay here and I’ll get you some food, okay?” Yibo tells it. “If you follow me, you might spook the horses.”

The fox returns its attention to its paw, ignoring him.

Yibo smiles down at it. Him. Her? It’s sitting on its haunches and he has no way to tell. His fingers itch; he wants to pet it, but he’s very aware it’s a wild animal and he wants to keep his hand.

He returns to Xiao Zhan and the horses, going to his nearest saddlebag and rummaging through it for some rations that might be palatable to a skinny young fox.

“Everything all right?” Xiao Zhan calls to him from his horse, which has calmed and doesn’t appear likely to spook anymore.

“Fine, I rescued a fox.” Yibo pulls some dried meat out of his traveling pouch and tucks it back in his saddlebag. “It was caught in a trap. It’s still hanging around so I’m going to give it some food then we can continue, sound good?”

“That’s fine,” Xiao Zhan says, smiling down at him. “That’s very kind, Yibo.”

Yibo swallows hard and looks away. “It’s what anyone would do.”

“It’s not.” The smile is still in Xiao Zhan’s voice. “But I think it’s the right thing to do.”

Unseen, Yibo’s lips curve in a smile, responding to that as he makes his way through the brush to where he’d left the fox. It’s still there, sitting with its red and ink-tipped tail curled around its feet like it’s waiting for him. Yibo approaches it with slow, cautious steps and it looks up at him with unblinking gold eyes.

He’d been planning to set the meat down near it and back away. Something tells him to crouch within arm’s length and offer it from his hand.

The fox darts forward. Yibo doesn’t flinch. The fox nips the dried meat neatly from his fingers without biting him, and darts off into the underbrush.

Yibo stands with a joyous bark of a laugh. In the distance, the fox barks back.

Chuckling, Yibo returns to his horse and Xiao Zhan.

“That went well, then?” Xiao Zhan smiles at him again and Yibo nods, swinging up onto Trampling Peonies.

“Let’s get back on the road.”

Once again, they cut their day short, stopping at a convenient town before sundown in concession to Yibo not used to riding for such long stretches. This time a sisterly type is watching the counter and she sizes them up so shrewdly Yibo thinks she can count the coin in his wallet before he even pulls it from his pocket.

“We’re full up,” the counter-jiejie says. “Bad weather. Only one room.”

Yibo gulps. “Let me guess,” he says. “Only one bed?” He glances at Xiao Zhan.

“It’s fine, we’re used to it,” Xiao Zhan says, waving his hand. Yibo looks closely, though, and notices his neck and the hollows of his cheekbones are a little red.

“Sorry for the hardship,” counter-jiejie says in such a flat tone it can’t be sarcastic.

They take themselves upstairs and Xiao Zhan offers him the magic mirror again. “Need more mineral salts?” he asks. “I’ll go ask for a bath.”

Yibo nods as he accepts the mirror. Their fingers brush and the Adam’s apple in his throat jumps. He keeps his eyes fixed on the mirror as Xiao Zhan backs away. “May as well,” he murmurs, and holds the mirror in his hands.

There’s a pause. Yibo knows he should look up. Instead, he puts his hand to the front cover of the mirror and waits until he hears quiet steps that leave the room. The door closes quietly behind Xiao Zhan.

“Cheng Xiao,” Yibo says, and opens the mirror, which shimmers and solidifies into a vision of Yibo’s sister. She’s pacing in the middle of the beautifully appointed tower, making a circuit between a closed wooden door and the edge of the open space that lets out onto the balcony.

“Yibo!” Cheng Xiao yells. “Move your ass and come save me already!”

That prises a soft snicker from Yibo and Cheng Xiao whirls, her eyes widening.

Yibo rears back, clutching the mirror. “Did you hear me?”

Cheng Xiao turns around again, looking this way and that. “Yibo? You’re not actually here, are you?”

“I’m not,” Yibo confirms.

Cheng Xiao’s face twists into a scowl. “Why the hell not?”

Yibo snorts. “Please. You’re doing fine on your own,” he says. “Why should I come by and ruin this sweet set-up that you have going on?”

Cheng Xiao tilts her head back and gives an ear-splitting scream of rage. Yibo winces and his head flinches back.

“Okay, nice talk, I’m shutting the magic mirror now,” Yibo says.

“Wait!” Cheng Xiao yells.

Yibo pauses.

She narrows her eyes. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Yibo admits. “You have to admit, it’s not like you’re in any pressing danger.”

“That is not the point!” Cheng Xiao shrills, stamping her foot. “I am stuck here, and I want to go home! Get off your ass and come save me already!”

“But that dragon is so big,” Yibo complains. “I don’t want to. And swinging a sword against that thing? Forget it.”

Cheng Xiao makes an aggravated noise and he can see her grinding her teeth.

“You’re really okay with that?” Yibo asks seriously.

She turns her head. She’s still trying to see him, and her face twists into another frown. “What do you mean?”

“If I rescue you,” Yibo says, “then I’m the one deemed worthy of inheriting the throne.”

Cheng Xiao’s eyes go shock-wide. She stamps her foot again, hands clenched into fists. “Mother,” she hisses.

The door cracks open. Yibo shuts the magic mirror, biting his lip. He didn’t even say goodbye. That’s probably going to drive Cheng Xiao nuts for an hour at least.

“Your…lady,” Xiao Zhan says, and the pause is long enough Yibo looks up at him, furling his brow. “She is all right?”

“She’s fine,” Yibo says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Xiao Zhan stands there a moment until Yibo looks up. He looks stricken, for some reason, and Yibo blinks up at him.

“Zhan-ge?”

“Yibo, you don’t—” Xiao Zhan begins, and stops. He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and his mouth tightens. “Sorry, never mind. Here, the attendants should be up to draw you a bath.”

Yibo nods and takes the sachet from him. This time their fingers don’t brush.

“I’ll wait for you downstairs.” Xiao Zhan gives him a tight nod. “Save us a table for dinner.”

Yibo shifts, but the words catch in his throat. What will he say? _Stay and watch me bathe? Wait until I get undressed?_

It doesn’t matter anyhow. The door opens and Xiao Zhan is gone, and two attendants come through and give him quick, courteous nods and go straight through to the bath to begin pouring water.

He knows he’s supposed to give himself time to soak and let the mineral salts work on his sore muscles, but Yibo takes a quick, perfunctory bath. He gets himself clean and changes into the fresh set of clothes that aren’t travel-stained. He hurries downstairs to Xiao Zhan, because he senses something is off.

When he slides into the seat across from Xiao Zhan, he has the mirror open but he snaps it shut before Yibo can see who he’s looking at—or talking to, he thinks, now that he knows the voice connection is there as well.

“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says, looking startled.

“Hey,” Yibo says, ignoring the way Xiao Zhan tucks the mirror away. “Are you upset with me?” _Too blunt,_ he can hear his friend Yixuan chiding him. _You’ve got to approach such a matter more indirectly._ Yibo wrinkles his nose at his mental image of Yixuan, who he’d only tell yet again it’s useless to try and reform his direct ways.

Xiao Zhan’s head lifts and his eyes widen. “Yibo, I…no, I’m not upset with you,” he says, and it sounds genuine.

“All right,” Yibo says, putting his head to one side and fixing him with a look.

Xiao Zhan sighs.

They’re interrupted briefly by the tavern’s server, and they both order the house special. Everywhere they’ve been, the house special is the only thing worth ordering—and often the only item available anyhow. Smaller towns don’t come with city-size selections.

“Zhan-ge,” Yibo says, and that’s all.

Xiao Zhan looks up, biting his lip. “You don’t…you don’t care for your lady?” he asks.

Yibo frowns. That’s what has Xiao Zhan concerned?

“Well, it’s not that I don’t care for her,” Yibo says matter-of-factly, “but she’s a total pain and we’ve been at war pretty much since birth. She really is fine, Xiao Zhan, she’s comfortable enough.”

Xiao Zhan stopped chewing his lip halfway through Yibo’s explanation and his mouth is hanging open by the end of it.

“She’s basically being kept in the lap of luxury,” Yibo continues. “And once I rescue her it’s going to be a giant pain.” He doesn’t have to fake his wince. He can’t even wrap his head around how difficult his life will be if he does reverse course and rescue Cheng Xiao from her well-appointed prison.

She’s got a dragon butler now; what does she need rescuing for?

“That’s a very, uh, honest assessment,” Xiao Zhan says, sounding a bit strangled.

Yibo shrugs. “When you’ve been fighting for as long as we have, that’s just how it is.”

Xiao Zhan nods, but he looks unconvinced.

“Zhan-ge must not have any close-aged siblings,” Yibo says.

Xiao Zhan blinks. “Siblings,” he repeats, like it’s a total about-face in subjects.

“Yeah, you sound like you haven’t scrapped with anyone for resources while growing up,” Yibo observes, setting his chin on a fist. “Toys, attention, nannies…” He wonders, uneasy, if he should have said nannies, plural. He’s vaguely aware most people might not have more than one—but Xiao Zhan is a royal, too.

“What does this have to do with…” Xiao Zhan stops himself with a small headshake. “Yibo, are we on the way to rescue your _sister_?”

Yibo’s mouth drops open. “Wh—who did you think we were going after, this whole time?” he demands.

“Your fiancée!” Xiao Zhan exclaims.

“I don’t have a fiancée!” Yibo sputters. “You thought…so you thought I was reluctant to rescue someone I was getting married to?”

Xiao Zhan nods and rolls his lips in, turning wide, sheepish eyes on him.

Yibo puts his hands over his face. He’s not sure if it was him not being clear, or Xiao Zhan assuming things and not being corrected. His face is warm. He gives himself a couple of quick pats on the cheeks and lowers his hands. “Well, you’re supposed to marry one of the Yuehua royals,” he points out, and this is where he _could_ reveal he’s one of them, and the person they’re supposed to be rescuing is the other.

He could clear that up. But something tells him to keep it to himself.

It’s Xiao Zhan’s turn to sputter. “That’s…well, my father…it’s not like my chances are good anyhow!”

Yibo watches him with a smile. He clasps one hand over the other. Xiao Zhan is cute when he blushes to his ears. “Oh, what makes you say that?”

“I doubt I’m even on the same playing field,” Xiao Zhan says with a rueful pout. “I’ve heard the prince is very beautiful. And the princess is gorgeous.”

Yibo raises a brow. “Looked in a mirror lately, Zhan-ge?” He cracks up. Xiao Zhan was looking in a magic mirror before he got to the table.

“You—” Xiao Zhan begins, but cuts himself short as the server returns with two steaming plates.

They’ve got enough energy to banter and go over their plans for the next day as they dig into their meals. Nearby, a group of travelers strikes up a lively recounting with two of the townsfolk who came for the drink and the song. The travelers are headed in from the west, and they spin a tale of a nearby cave with three immortals who trapped them and ran them through an exhausting gauntlet of tasks until they were lucky to escape with their lives.

Yibo glances at Xiao Zhan, only to find Xiao Zhan looking right back at him. His mouth turns up in that devastating, beautiful smile.

Yibo’s heart goes _thump-thump_. He bites his lip hard. _Oh,_ he thinks. _Oh no._

“Well, if you’re not in any hurry,” Xiao Zhan says. “A trio of immortals trapping passersby sounds serious. Maybe we should check it out?”

Yibo nods. He’s been wracking his brains for a way to prolong their journey without seeming suspicious. Sooner or later, he thinks, he’s going to admit he’s been turned around and it’s the dragon of the east they’re supposed to contend with.

He’d rather put it off until later. For now, he’s happy to enjoy Xiao Zhan’s company for as long as he’s able, and Cheng Xiao really is safe and sound. It’s not like Qinglong is going to eat her.

When they head up for bed that night, Xiao Zhan keeps stealing little looks over at him, and Yibo cocks his head and smiles back at him every time. Xiao Zhan’s eyes widen but he smiles too.

They strip to their underthings. Yibo climbs into bed without hesitation. Xiao Zhan gets into bed beside him and once again they have to fit themselves on their sides, knees bent, to fit into the single bed together.

Tonight, though, it takes Yibo a long time to fall asleep.

\---

In the morning after a filling breakfast involving congee, cured sausage, and buns, Yibo steps onto the front porch of the inn with his pack slung over one shoulder and startles before he can take a step beyond the door. Xiao Zhan bumps into him from behind.

“Yibo, what?”

“Zhan-ge,” Yibo whispers tensely. “The fox.” He cocks his head at her. He’s decided it’s a she, because he hasn’t seen evidence to contradict that notion.

“Oh? It’s still here?” Xiao Zhan puts a hand over his shoulder, trying to peer around him. 

“She’s in the yard,” Yibo says, stepping aside to allow Xiao Zhan to join him on the porch, which he does.

“Hmm,” Xiao Zhan says. He looks at the fox and taps Yibo’s arm. “Well, you freed her, right?”

“And gave her some dried meat,” Yibo adds. He thinks back to the sausage he had with his breakfast and wishes he had a little left over to toss into the yard.

“She’s good luck,” Xiao Zhan says. “We should get moving.”

They retrieve their horses from the stable hand and set out. Xiao Zhan had asked the group of travelers for more specific instructions the night before and gotten them, so they head out without hesitation, guiding their horses out of town.

Every so often Yibo glances over his shoulder to see if the fox is still there. She lets her tongue loll from her mouth in a vulpine grin and keeps pace with them, trotting not in their wake but to the side, off the road but well within his view. It’s perhaps an hour when they reach the turn-off from the main westward road. 

Yibo experiences a slight, teeny, miniscule pang of guilt.

He should have told Xiao Zhan it wasn’t only his sister that he was headed out to rescue. He should have confessed it was Cheng Xiao, and they’ve been going in the wrong direction for days. He can’t bring himself to be honest at this point; he’s dug himself in too deep. It will take an act of the gods to come clean, because Xiao Zhan has been favoring him with little smiles that Yibo is far too needy to risk turning aside.

For the first time, Yibo not only has someone’s attention all to himself, but they seem just as interested in him. For who he is, damn it, and not his title. Seungyoun was right. That smile makes his heart go _thump-thump._

It’s just this one person, this Xiao Zhan. And Yibo doesn’t want to risk saying anything that will make him turn away from him, even as he knows he has to be spinning out borrowed time.

The travelers told them of a narrow path that wound through the wood and disappeared into a cave cut into the side of a hill. Sure enough, soon their horses take them into a wooded area and the path narrows further. Their horses are so close they’re almost thigh to thigh as they press forward.

Yibo checks behind them again. The fox is still tagging along behind them. He smiles. She stretches her jaw wide in a yawn. It makes Yibo want to chuckle before he faces forward again and realizes they’ve drawn close to a cavern mouth. It’s a wide, jagged slash in the side of the hill, and that’s where the path disappears into.

“You don’t happen to have a magic sword to go with the magic mirror, do you?” Yibo asks. His own sword is disappointingly mundane.

Xiao Zhan shakes his head. “No, but I have some proficiency with the flute.”

Yibo doesn’t dare laugh. He tips his head toward the entrance. “We’re really going in, then?”

“Of course!” Xiao Zhan says brightly. “I’m sure it’s a group of cultivators that have been teasing travelers.”

“All right,” Yibo says, though he remains wary. “We should tether the horses outside, though.” If tethered loosely enough, they can break free if they’re left waiting too long, and return home—or at least to the nearest village.

“Don’t be scared.” Xiao Zhan fixes him with an earnest look. “If a handful of travelers can escape on their own, surely we can do better.”

“Of course we can!” Yibo exclaims, spurred on by his own competitive impulse and the implication he can’t beat someone. He slips down from Trampling Peonies, finds a tree to secure her reins to that will give her enough lead to graze, and gives Xiao Zhan an expectant look.

He can practically hear Cheng Xiao’s jeer. _Ah, so you’ll respond to his baiting but you still won’t come and rescue me?_

 _Of course not,_ he responds to his sister’s imagined taunt. _This is questionable danger; that is certain danger._ Who knew what lurked in the moat surrounding that white tower, after all.

They walk into the cavern side by side. Yibo checks and sure enough, the fox is still following, padding at his heels. After a dozen steps or so, Xiao Zhan draws a talisman out of his sleeve and activates it, producing light that engulfs them and beats back the encroaching darkness.

For another dozen or so steps as the tension gathers, Yibo imagines they’re on a low-stakes adventure, like something he would have instigated with his friends back home. They’re side by side, staying close. The aura of light gives the impression of warmth, closeness.

Yibo stumbles a little as they move from a tunnel to a wider area, a more cavernous space. His soft exclamation is swallowed up by echoing space and Xiao Zhan grasps his elbow, holding his talisman aloft in his other hand.

Their bubble of light expands, filling up the cavern. Yibo looks around with wonder. The cavern is incredibly, perfectly round and symmetrical. At the center of it there’s a broad, flat rock that reminds him of an altar.

A spark zips through the air, followed by another, circling past him fast like a tiny scintillating comet, then a third shoots past Yibo trailing specks of light that hang on the air for a second before dying like embers.

Yibo reaches out for the nearest spark but it shoots off into the darkness beyond the talisman’s reach, lighting everything in its wake. Xiao Zhan lowers the bright talisman in his hand and steps closer, his hand closing fully around Yibo’s elbow.

“These are…” Xiao Zhan begins, hushed.

The three sparks of light bob mid-air in front of the broad flat rock before the air distorts and shimmers around them. They watch, amazed, as three people unfold from nothingness and stand across from them in the dark reaches of the cavern. An effulgence surrounds them, as though all three of them have carried a piece of the sunshine outside into the darkness. There is an uncle-aged man with a neat dark beard, an ancient-looking man standing in between his companions, and a woman whose age is impossible for Yibo to determine at a glance.

It’s usually easy for Yibo to at least categorize someone as old or young looking, but the woman with an easy smile standing beside her elder seems somehow to be neither. All three of them are wearing very formal robes in a style generations out of date—Yibo recognizes it from plays that have been put on at the palace.

Xiao Zhan bows deeply, pulling on Yibo’s elbow to encourage him to do the same.

This more than anything makes Yibo realize they haven’t happened upon a den of rogue cultivators. Belatedly he sinks into a deep bow as well, and examines the faces of the three people as he straightens.

“I am the Guest of the Rocks,” the eldest man intones. His sepulchral voice rings out in the cavern, which projects his voice to each part with ringing acoustics. “You have entered my home without invitation.”

“We’re very sorry,” Xiao Zhan says, bowing again. “Honored immortal, we’ll simply be on our way.” He takes a step back.

“Without paying your respects?” the younger man to the Guest of Rocks’ right speaks up, folding his arms. “I am Sao Guo Gui, and we would have entertainment before letting you have your way without consequence.”

“Ah,” Xiao Zhan says very softly beside him, and Yibo reaches out to capture his wrist.

What he really wants is to tangle their fingers together, but he doesn’t dare.

“It’s all right, Zhan-ge, I’m good at physical challenges—so I hope you’re good at riddles,” Yibo tells him. Between the two of them he hopes they can provide the immortals with sufficient entertainment.

Tinkling laughter resounds through the cave. The woman claps her hands. “Uncles, what a rare treat!”

Sao Guo Gui chuckles. “Indeed, He Xian Gu. They don’t know.”

“They don’t know,” He Xian Gu repeats, clapping her hands again. “My favorite type of traveler to play with.”

Yibo tenses, though he knows flight is impossible. Given these are immortals rather than cultivators, they could bar their exit with a wall of flame, or any number of means. The passageway itself could close up like a screen sliding shut.

“I shall set the task,” the Guest of Rocks speaks up in his low, hollow voice.

Beside him, He Xian Gu pouts. “We should increase the stakes,” she suggests. “Otherwise, it’s not as fun for us.”

A chill goes through Yibo and Xiao Zhan’s wrist twitches in his. They share a single horrified look. 

“Zhan-ge…” Yibo starts, but bites his lip in the next instant. There’s too much he wants to say. They might end up sealed in this cavern forever at the whims of the three immortals.

“Ah, yes,” Sao Guo Gui says in thoughtful tones, putting his hand to his chin. “I see, He Xian Gu. You’re right.” He raises his hand and makes a hooking gesture.

Xiao Zhan is pulled away from his side, slipping through Yibo’s hand like his fingers are holding onto water.

“No!” Yibo shouts, and Xiao Zhan twists around, reaching out for him, panic flashing across his face. He’s hoisted into the air by nothing, and a golden light surrounds him. He goes still.

Sao Guo Gui moves his hand and Xiao Zhan’s floating body obediently follows the direction of that movement, raising and coming to rest on the altar-like stone.

“You care for him,” He Xian Gu says in a tone so clinical it’s eerie.

Yibo’s jaw hardens. “What’s it to you?”

He Xian Gu laughs. “I find it interesting,” she replies.

“So interesting that you’ll hold him hostage? Because I care for him?” Yibo challenges. There’s no point in him denying it. These people have lived so many lifetimes’ worth, to them Yibo might as well be a transparent piece of paper.

“Think of it as a fulcrum,” she says cryptically, and turns to bow to her elder. “Guest of the Rocks, have you considered the task you’d like to set upon the prince?”

Yibo gasps, but clenches his fists without saying anything. So they know that much, too. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he thinks.

“Hmm,” the Guest of the Rocks utters, stroking his long white beard. His eyes glitter through the darkness at Yibo like a cat’s. “Yes, I have just the thing. Fetch me an ever-blooming golden peony.”

Yibo’s mouth falls open. Despair sweeps through him in a sickly wave; effort of will keeps him from dropping to his knees. “Does such a thing exist?”

“It does,” the Guest of the Rocks declares. “Fetch me the ever-blooming golden peony, dianxia, and we’ll release your young man to you and you both may leave.”

“He’s not my young man,” Yibo protests.

He Xian Gu’s face lights up with a sudden smile. Sao Guo Gui laughs.

“Hmm,” the Guest of the Rocks responds. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

Yibo looks from one of them to the next, restraining the urge to shake his head.

One spindly hand waves at him like shooing a fly. “Go, then. We’ll keep him safe as he was beside you until you return.”

His heart turning to stone within his breast, Yibo turns and trudges off into the darkness. He exclaims and almost falls as he does some swift footwork to avoid tripping over the fox, who leaps out from under his feet.

“It’s you,” Yibo murmurs, as he walks out of the cavern the way they came. “Still with me, huh?”

The fox doesn’t reply, of course, but weaves between his legs like a sinuous cat before settling into step beside him.

Yibo’s lips tug upward into a half-hearted smile. “Thank you,” he says as they reach the mouth of the cavern. “I don’t suppose you know where an ever-blooming golden peony might blossom, do you?”

The fox sits back on her haunches. She looks up at him, stretches her neck, and appears to sniff the air. She leaps up and barks, runs a circle around Yibo, turns around and laps him the other way, and dashes off a short way and barks again. She stops and looks at him expectantly.

“You do?” Yibo breathes, hope spiking through him headier than any stiff drink.

The fox lolls her tongue out at him in a vulpine grin and starts off, looking over her shoulder at him after a few paces.

“All right, I’m coming,” Yibo says. He glances at the horses where they’re tethered loosely and grazing, appearing unconcerned. He sighs, squares his shoulders, and follows after the fox as she trots off around the side of the hill.

He keeps up a steady jog at first, desperate to reach his destination. He has to drop to a quick walk after less than an hour by his estimate and the angle of the sun. They walk for another hour along a straight-flowing stream and past a wooded thicket, and it’s another hour through a pleasant meadow carpeted in thick grass and flowers. Yibo was hoping the fox would stop and lead him to a cluster of peonies in the meadow, but they keep moving at a good clip. They pass through another wooded area and beyond it is a hill that they ascend.

At the top of the hill, there is a single pale birch with the slimmest branches Yibo has ever seen. The fox circles the base of the birch tree and barks. She looks up, and Yibo looks up as well, squinting.

Near the top of the tree there’s a glimmering golden flower. If he looks very hard, he thinks he can make out its shape. It appears to be a peony—it has to be.

“This is the ever-blooming peony?” Yibo asks the fox, feeling silly, but she barks again. It’s so authoritative he almost smiles.

He bows to her and begins to scale the tree, hugging it with arms and legs. When he reaches the lowermost branches, he grasps one to hoist himself higher.

It breaks off in his hand and he tumbles to the ground in an undignified pile.

Yibo huffs and picks himself up, grasping the tree with arms and legs again. This is the only way to save Zhan-ge, and the flower is right there, out of reach. Perhaps if he ignores the branches and remains clinging to the trunk, he can make it to the top.

He skirts around the first few layers of branches, working his way around them without relying on them to support his weight. The higher he goes, though, the more branches there are. He reaches one hand to grasp and move a few frail limbs aside, but his hand slips from his precarious hold on the trunk. The thin branches break under his other hand and Yibo tries to cling with his legs, but his wild swing unbalances him and he goes crashing to the ground again.

With a groan, Yibo remains where he is for a moment. He lies there and thinks about what he’s done. He and Xiao Zhan were overconfident, going forth thinking they were saving villagers from a local disturbance when instead they’ve put themselves at the mercy of three whimsical immortals.

And immortals, being who they are, would never deliver up travelers from their domain without teaching them a lesson. Yibo presses his face against the grass for a moment. He drives a fist against the ground. He’s been playing with people’s lives like they are nothing. 

He should have been honest from the start. He should have told Xiao Zhan who he was, and what he’d set forth to do. And he should have done right by his sister, and headed out to free her regardless of whether he liked the conditions or not.

Yibo pushes himself up from the ground with renewed determination. He begins to scale the tree again.

This time, his carefulness and skill gets him nearly halfway up from the ground to the topmost reaches before he makes a wrong move. He trusts his weight to what appears to be a solid branch that he tests more than once, and it’s between that swing and the next where he goes crashing down again. He hits what feels like half the tree’s branches on the way down and sets his face against his folded arms, crying out with frustration against the grass.

“There has to be a way,” Yibo says, rolling so that he’s lying against the grass staring up at the birch tree and the gleam of the golden flower snared high in the branches above. “They wouldn’t have set me an impossible task, would they?”

A squirm of doubt enters his mind. He recalls the avid look on the ageless face of He Xian Gu as she suggested they increase the stakes.

The fox, who has been sitting beside the tree patiently watching Yibo’s attempts, bounds up to him and nuzzles at his jawline with her wet nose.

“Ahh, I’ll figure it out,” Yibo says, but he groans. His entire body is sore. If he keeps throwing himself at the tree, maybe he’ll manage to break all its limbs off and the flower will simply fall to the ground. He sits up.

He draws his sword and regards it with dubious eyes. It will take him an age to hew through the trunk. He’d be better off to try and keep climbing.

Before he can make yet another attempt, the fox darts away from him, running nimbly up the side of the tree until she reaches the lowest branch. She springs from one slender limb to another, light as a feather, darting and weaving as she climbs her way upward. Yibo watches, barely breathing, as she makes her way to the top and nudges the golden flower with her nose.

It flutters down from the tree. Yibo rolls and gets to his feet, dashing forward in time to catch and cradle the golden peony in his hands.

“I can’t believe this,” Yibo breathes, gazing down at the flower. There’s a subtle luster to its golden petals. Although it’s attached to no stem, it appears freshly plucked. An ever-blooming golden peony.

The fox jumps down from the tree beside him and yips, doing a little dancing in place motion beside him.

Yibo looks down at her in concern. “Is this really all right, though?” A sudden thought stabs him. “I didn’t get this myself. Will this really fulfill the Guest of the Rocks’ condition to fetch him the ever-blooming peony?”

Anguished, Yibo sinks to his haunches, still cradling the golden peony in his hands.

The fox whines.

Beside Yibo, the air shimmers.

“Dianxia, put your mind at ease,” a rich contralto voice speaks.

Yibo startles to his feet, clutching the peony to his chest in a defensive hold.

Instead of the fox, a slim young woman in a simple green hanfu stands beside him. She has an abundance of dark red hair that matches the color of the fox’s fur, and bunched behind her are three bushy tails.

“A huli jing!” Yibo gasps, taking a step back.

She gives him a wide, mischievous grin. “I’m not going to hurt you, dianxia,” she assures him. “You saved me, and I’ve repaid that debt.”

“Ah,” Yibo says, and nods. “I…thank you.”

“Thank you,” the huli jing returns. “The score is even. And the Guest of the Rocks will accept it, as I’ve helped you to honor that debt.”

“I see,” Yibo says, and he dearly hopes it’s as she says. This is his only chance now.

She favors him with another wide grin. “They’re only testing you, dianxia,” she says. “Toying with you in their own way. Now hurry back to your young man.”

“He’s not my—” Yibo starts, but with a whirl of her tails, the huli jing returns to fox form. She sits on her haunches again, red tongue lolling out to the side, and barks at him once.

It sounds like a command, he thinks.

Yibo bows to the huli jing. “Take care,” he tells her, and she gives a yipping warble that sounds almost like laughter before turning and bounding off. He turns, too, and makes his way down the hill.

The trip back takes Yibo near twice as long as it did for him to get to the birch on the hilltop when he was following the fox. He’s slow with care for the peony cradled in his hands, of course, but also because his body is a landscape of sore spots from hitting so many tree branches during his fall. By the time he breaks free of the wooded thicket beside the straight-moving stream, the sun is beginning to descend into the west.

Yibo is just happy he’s managed to complete his task in a single day, somehow. Thanks to the huli jing he was able to complete it at all.

He finds his way back to the cavern mouth, but he doesn’t have any talismans for light like the one Xiao Zhan drew to illuminate their way. That doesn’t turn out to be an issue, as the peony cradled in his hands gives off a steady glow once the feeble light from the cavern’s mouth is far behind him.

He walks into the symmetrical cavern and approaches the slab of rock where Xiao Zhan is laid out, his face smooth and untroubled as though he’s sleeping.

Three sparks appear, dancing in the darkness, growing up and outward until the three immortals appear once more and stand between Yibo and his objective.

“Hmm,” the Guest of the Rocks exhales, stroking his white beard. “You earned yourself an ally, it seems.”

“Through his own actions,” He Xian Gu speaks up.

“It is within the rules,” Sao Guo Gui says, like one pronouncing a judgment.

“So it is,” the Guest of the Rocks says. He stretches his hand out. A slow smile unfolds on his craggy face. “Give me the ever-blooming peony, and you may take your young man and go.”

“He…” Yibo begins, shuts his mouth, and approaches close enough to deposit the glowing golden peony in the elder immortal’s hand. He steps back and makes a proper deep bow.

Sao Guo Gui waves and Xiao Zhan lifts from the altar, passing over the heads of the three immortals and hovering in the air beside Yibo. Yibo turns to him with an exclamation, concerned, but Xiao Zhan stands upright beside him and as Yibo grasps at his arms, he opens his eyes and looks one way and another before fixing his gaze on Yibo.

“I had the strangest dream…” Xiao Zhan begins, and looks over Yibo’s shoulder. His brow clouds. “Oh, it’s not over.”

“It’s not,” Yibo agrees. “Zhan-ge, are you all right?”

“I feel fine, Yibo,” Xiao Zhan replies.

It’s He Xian Gu’s voice that rings out next. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to rescue your sister?” She covers her mouth as she laughs. It’s a loud peal of sound, not quite good-natured. “You have been going in the wrong direction for three days now, after all.”

Yibo stiffens and looks over his shoulder.

The light begins to fade. The immortals have gone.

“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says, sounding troubled.

“Let’s get out of here first, Zhan-ge,” Yibo says, and hustles him back toward what he can see of the tunnel that will lead them to the cavern’s mouth.

Even outside, it’s getting dark. They return to their horses and Yibo untangles Trampling Peonies’ reins with a careful hand, avoiding Xiao Zhan’s eyes.

“We should go back to town,” Yibo mutters. “For the night. I…I can sleep in the stable if you want me to.”

“Yibo. Why would I want that?”

Yibo can’t bring himself to answer as they mount up and head back to town.

“Once we’re checked in and settled, I have some questions, Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says in such a gentle tone that Yibo wants to disappear into his horse’s mane.

“Yes. Of course,” Yibo replies dully. He’ll answer any questions Xiao Zhan has for him. It’s the least he owes him, he’s sure. It’s Yibo’s fault to begin with that they got caught up in a dangerous situation, that Xiao Zhan was held prisoner with an uncertain guarantee of return.

“Your sister,” Xiao Zhan begins. He stops.

Yibo looks over at him, trying to keep the miserable expression off his face. Xiao Zhan’s brow is furrowed.

“Do you really not want to rescue her?” Xiao Zhan asks at last.

“It’s not that,” Yibo says, and pauses. He, too, has trouble finding his words. He should have been honest sooner. “It’s complicated, Zhan-ge.”

“All right,” Xiao Zhan says, though he looks unconvinced. “We’ll talk when we get back to the inn, then.”

Yibo lowers his head, certain he hasn’t got much of a right to explain himself by this point. At least, there doesn’t seem to be any possible way to frame it that won’t lose him Xiao Zhan’s good regard.

When they’re leading their horses into the stable yard, a familiar shrill voice behind him lets Yibo know that his time has truly run out.

“Wang Yibo!” 

Cheng Xiao’s voice behind him is unmistakable.

Yibo whirls, clutching Trampling Peonies’ reins in his hand. “How—”

Cheng Xiao stalks across the yard to put one crimson nail against his chest. “Never you mind ‘how;’ what were you thinking? Leaving me locked up in that tower this whole time?”

Yibo takes a step back and notes two things at a quick glance: one, his sister has had time to freshen her nails from the solid gold color she wore at the Yuehua ball, and two, the dour-faced Qinglong is standing behind her in his layered blue and silver hanfu, so he has to be the ‘how.’ His eyes cut over to Xiao Zhan beside him, who looks about as shocked as he’s expecting to see.

“See, you didn’t even need rescuing,” Yibo says to bluff her, maybe even get her to stand down.

Cheng Xiao’s eyes widen and she looks like she’s going to screech, but she smacks him instead. “Go put your horses away! I’ll meet you inside.” She huffs like she’s expecting resistance, and deflates when Yibo meekly leads his horse away.

Yibo is wondering, in fact, if he can lead his horse out the back of the stable and keep riding. It’s dark out, though, and his body is one solid bruise. Besides that, Xiao Zhan is right behind him as they hand their horses over to the stableboy’s care.

Xiao Zhan is quiet, his body language closed off, his eyes averted, and Yibo stands beside him feeling like an utter imposter.

“Zhan-ge,” Yibo begins, and winces when Xiao Zhan flinches.

“ _You’re_ the prince,” Xiao Zhan says.

Yibo nods.

“You’re _the_ prince?” Xiao Zhan asks again, a note of hysteria in his voice.

Yibo bites his lip and can only nod again.

At last, Xiao Zhan lifts his head and looks him in the eye, fixing him with a wild-eyed, somewhat desperate stare. “Yibo. You’re the _prince_.”

“Mn,” Yibo replies. Risking everything, he reaches out and takes Xiao Zhan’s hand.

Xiao Zhan lets him. “Okay,” he says, and nods. “Okay, let’s go inside.” He laces their fingers together.

For what feels like the first time all day, Yibo smiles.

Xiao Zhan leads them right up to the desk before they go over to the tavern off to the side. It’s the counter-jiejie from the day before and she is plying a fan, waving air to and fro as she sizes them up.

“There’s—” she begins.

“Only one room?” Yibo guesses, raising a brow.

Counter-jiejie snickers and nods. “You’ll take it, then?”

Yibo hesitates.

“We’ll take it,” Xiao Zhan confirms. He takes out his own coin pouch. “With two baths again. The first with mineral salts.”

She nods, writes them into the ledger, and waves them off.

“How could you tell I needed it?” Yibo asks, puzzled.

Xiao Zhan huffs quietly. “Yibo, you’re moving like you’re in pain.”

That’s impossible to refute.

They go to meet Cheng Xiao in the tavern. She’s scored them a corner table tucked away from foot traffic and flags them over. 

“So,” Yibo says, slipping into the seat across from her. “I’m guessing you’ve tamed the dragon.”

Cheng Xiao flushes brick red. “Never mind that,” she snaps. “Yibo! Explain yourself!”

Xiao Zhan is seated beside Yibo and somehow, for a wonder, he hasn’t relinquished Yibo’s hand.

Yibo isn’t sure what temporary insanity has taken hold of him, but he’s going to hold on for as long as Xiao Zhan lets him.

“Look, you got yourself out of that tower, didn’t you?” Yibo squares himself up and meets his sister’s eyes. “Doesn’t that mean you were being lazy, lounging around waiting for me to do it?”

Cheng Xiao inhales, her nostrils flaring, and draws herself up straight.

Qinglong—whose hair seems to shimmer between blue, white, and silver in the tavern’s candlelight—leans in toward Cheng Xiao and whispers something into her ear. Yibo supposes he’s objectively handsome, though as with any other person he’s ever come across, he feels no tug of attraction.

Yibo glances to the side where Xiao Zhan is intently regarding the two across the table. Well, every other person but one.

Cheng Xiao slowly expels her indrawn breath and glares at him. “I would like to know _why_ you did it. No deflecting. Unless you want to pour more oil on this fire?” She says the last bit through her teeth.

Yibo sighs and runs his free hand through his hair, mussing it back before smoothing it forward. “You remember the condition that was set on freeing you, right?”

Cheng Xiao’s full mouth pinches into something closer resembling their mother at her angriest. “You said the person who rescued me would be worthy of the throne.”

Yibo nods. “It wasn’t fair,” he said. “Putting both of us in that position—you unable to participate, and me…” He trails off, glancing at Xiao Zhan.

Cheng Xiao’s eyes flick over Xiao Zhan as though seeing him for the first time. She lifts her chin. “Who’s this?”

“Forgive my humble intrusion,” Xiao Zhan says, lowering his head and offering his hand. “I’m Xiao Zhan, of the southern Xiao family.”

“Ah, the royals holding our border,” Cheng Xiao replies, sounding impressed and taking his hand. She gives it a brief, firm shake before releasing it.

Yibo stares sidelong at Xiao Zhan. “Really?”

Cheng Xiao scoffs. “You didn’t even know that? You’re so useless, what did you even do in our studies.” 

It’s a rhetorical question, because she knew Yibo spent as much time as possible ditching his studies in favor of his outside pursuits.

Xiao Zhan is poking Yibo in the side. “You left your sister locked up in that tower and led me in the wrong direction for three days?”

Yibo winces. And here come the uncomfortable questions. “She was fine,” he protests feebly. “You let me check in on her every day with the magic mirror.”

“Hmph!” Cheng Xiao says.

“You left her with a monster,” Xiao Zhan presses.

“Hey,” Qinglong objects.

“Ah, sorry,” Xiao Zhan says, bobbing his head in Qinglong’s general direction, and fixes his attention back to Yibo.

Now there are two people staring at him, and Yibo squirms a little. “Clearly that was not a problem,” he tries. “She looks like a wilting flower but that is not correct.”

Xiao Zhan cocks his head to one side as though allowing the point.

“You didn’t want to risk him rescuing me, either,” Cheng Xiao says, her eyes boring into Yibo’s. “Did you.”

Yibo squirms a little more and drops his gaze.

“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says quietly. “Did you think…if we rescued Cheng Xiao together, I might have to marry her?”

Yibo raises his head and gives him a defiant look. “I didn’t want to risk it,” he states, being honest with himself and Xiao Zhan at last. “I only thought, if it put you in the line of succession, wouldn’t you rather marry her than me?”

Xiao Zhan laughs and squeezes his hand, and Yibo realizes only then that he’s still holding it.

“Yibo.” Cheng Xiao sets her folded hands on the table. “Is that why, then? It was unfair? And you didn’t want your young man to win.”

“He’s not—” Yibo starts, glances to the side, and sees Xiao Zhan regarding him with wide, anxious eyes.

His heart goes _thump-thump._ Yibo bites his lip and cuts himself short. He’s really done for.

He looks over at Cheng Xiao and sighs a little. “I don’t want to rule,” he says plainly. “Listen. Lean in for this, because I will never repeat this. You are better suited for the throne than I am. And I figure…the way I’ve handled things, our mother will never promote me to the line of succession now.” He tries on a laugh, but it falls flat even to his own ears. His hand is getting sweaty in Xiao Zhan’s but he doesn’t dare pull away.

Cheng Xiao stares at him, unblinking.

Yibo waves his hand. “She can hardly fail to acknowledge you now, can she? Look at all this queen material. She rescued herself from the clutches of Qinglong. How her star shines.”

Qinglong makes a noise in his throat and Cheng Xiao sits up straighter in her chair, looking a bit red again.

“Hm. Well.” Cheng Xiao clears her throat. “This is bullshit. But it’s an acceptable level of bullshit, coming from you.”

Yibo barely smiles.

“Qinglong and I will take our meal in our quarters,” Cheng Xiao decides, getting up from the table in an abrupt movement and avoiding his eyes. “I’ll see you back at the palace, Yibo.”

“Mn,” Yibo agrees, waving her off. He does make eye contact with Qinglong as the dragon leaves his seat and there’s a serpentine brand of satisfaction in his face as he accords Yibo a single nod.

Yibo files that away into the locked chest of things he does not dare contemplate.

He shifts in his seat, vaguely contemplating whether to get up and take one of the vacated places across the table, but Xiao Zhan holds fast to his hand.

“Zhan-ge,” Yibo says, looking down at their joined hands, then the man himself. He’s been holding everything too close to the chest to allow himself to hope.

“You’re the prince,” Xiao Zhan says quietly, not a trace of humor in his face.

Yibo winces. “I’m sorry?” It may not be too late for an apology, if nothing else.

“Did you avoid telling me because you didn’t think I needed to know, or because you were hoping I’d fall for you without being aware you were the prince?” Xiao Zhan asks him.

Yibo’s eyes widen. “Zhan-ge, did you—”

“You deliberately trashed your chance at the throne because you wanted to be with me?” Xiao Zhan questions.

Yibo grimaces. “When you put it like that, it sounds so…” He puts his free hand to the back of his head. “I got Cheng Xiao to believe in herself, didn’t I? She’s going to be a great queen.”

Xiao Zhan puts a hand up to the side of his jaw, thumb resting on his chin. “Yibo. Focus.”

Yibo’s heart does that annoying thing again, that _thump-thump_ , and he knows he has to be honest. He can’t avoid it anymore. “Zhan-ge. I was selfish,” he confesses. “It’s just that I…I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Literally anyone. I thought I was cursed, that I had no heart, or maybe I was some kind of changeling.”

“Oh, Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says, his face pulling in lines of sympathetic distress, his fingers tightening on Yibo’s.

“Aside from giving Cheng Xiao her shot, and beyond showing I’m unfit, I wanted you to myself,” Yibo confesses. “I…I _like_ you, Zhan-ge.”

He looks down. He can’t bear to meet Xiao Zhan’s eyes when comprehension lands and he has to tell Yibo he doesn’t feel the same way.

“And I’ll understand if what I’ve done has lowered your opinion of me, and you can’t return my feelings,” Yibo concludes sadly. He has to own up to the consequences of his own actions, after all.

“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan says, sounding annoyed enough to make Yibo risk glancing up. “Are you done deciding how I feel, then?”

“Um…yes?” Yibo ventures, slanting a puppyish look over at him from beneath his bangs.

“You have got to be the sketchiest royal I have ever met,” Xiao Zhan declares.

Yibo’s heart drops into his boots with a small, sad little thud. He knows he had it coming, but reality is more painful than his imagined reaction.

“But somehow,” Xiao Zhan continues, smiling, “I like you. I like _you_ , Wang Yibo.”

“O-oh,” Yibo falters. He tips his head to one side. “Are you sure?”

Xiao Zhan’s smile widens. “Yibo. I stayed by your side to be with you, not to help out someone I don’t even know.”

Yibo lights up. That’s true. “Then you’ll come back to the palace with me?”

“Try and stop me,” Xiao Zhan says, tugging him in closer.

“You don’t mind that I won’t be in line for the throne?” Yibo has to ask.

This makes Xiao Zhan’s nose wrinkle in a way that Yibo wants to smooth out. Possibly with a kiss. “I’ve never wanted to rule,” he says plainly. “And this way, my father can have his alliance with the royal family, and I can have you.”

Yibo’s heart thumps again and his self-restraint is at its limit. He leans in, hesitating to make sure Xiao Zhan is with him, and delivers up his first kiss.

It’s far better than Yibo ever imagined. He’s a little awkward, more aware of his lips and the way they’re pressing against Xiao Zhan’s than he’s ever been aware of his body before, until Xiao Zhan cups the side of his jaw and Yibo’s eyes slide shut and they melt against one another. Their mouths press together, part, and meet again with a firm, seeking touch.

Xiao Zhan lets him up for air and Yibo licks his lips. He’s definitely going to be the big spoon again tonight, he thinks.

“We should take our dinner upstairs, too,” Yibo says, straightforward about his intentions.

Xiao Zhan tips his head back and laughs. “I’m all yours, dianxia.”

“Just Yibo,” Yibo returns. “For you, I’m only your Yibo.”

\---

[Epilogue]

Cheng Xiao and Qinglong return to the palace the very next day, terrorizing most of the compound with the sight of a majestic blue dragon bearing down from the sky. Given she’s accomplished the impossible and won over the dragon and freed herself, Du Hua pronounces her the crown princess of the kingdom of Yuehua and launches plans for a grand ball to celebrate her ascension.

Qinglong is happy to remain Cheng Xiao’s dragon butler. He can’t allow anyone else to bring harm to the princess who has managed to be persuasive enough to get him to overthrow his sworn duty, after all. If there might be something romantic between, them everyone seems willing to look the other way.

Yibo returns to the palace and demands garlic noodles and Xiao Zhan’s hand in marriage. Du Hua scolds him for not trying harder at the task she set but she’s pleased overall with the outcome when Yibo sets his energies on revitalizing the music and dance culture of Yuehua.

Xiao Zhan is actually very much in love with the sketchiest royal he’s ever met, and more than happy to find he’s landed the prince of Yuehua and his previously impervious heart, desires, and body. When Yibo proposes a focus on reviving the arts and outdoor sports (along with his hand in marriage), Xiao Zhan is even happier to prove he has something to contribute with his musical and artistic skills.

(Cheng Xiao and Qinglong end up choosing her spouse together, so that works out for all three of them.)

\---

And they lived happily ever after.

+the end+

**Author's Note:**

> This time our spoiled prince didn’t manage to get higher than a T-rating out of me, ha!
> 
> But Yibo was the big spoon that night, and Xiao Zhan enjoyed it very much.
> 
> I hope you liked it! Let me know with a kudos or a comment—I’d like to know if you thought I captured a halfway decent fairy tale feel. You can also help me get more eyeballs on this by retweeting it [here](https://twitter.com/bounddreamer/status/1317878967341232129).
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at [@bounddreamer](https://twitter.com/bounddreamer) where I like to post pics of these boys, my cats, food, and talk about all of the above plus video games. WangXian (and YiZhan) thirst hours are 24/7.


End file.
